The Ocean
by Aslan's Lamb
Summary: Susan is wearing a white dress with a flaring skirt. She tells me she doesn’t want to go into the ocean, that she is afraid...“When I was a child, I loved the ocean,” she says.“We all did.” Post LB. POV of various characters who know Susan.
1. Chapter 1

Susan is wearing a white dress with a flaring skirt. There are bags under her eyes and they don't seem to belong on such a face. She tells me she doesn't want to go into the ocean, that she is afraid.

I say, that's all right, we can sit on the sand and we talk.

*****************************************************************************

I, first, saw her at the funeral. She was sitting alone and she was crying. When I say 'alone,' I don't mean literally alone. The church was full of people and they all approached her, bringing embraces and kind words but even then she seemed alone, as if there was a glass wall around her that none could break.

I was playing the organ. That's what I do, I'm an organist. I've been to many funerals. But I've never seen anyone so alone.

My best friend, John, spoke at that funeral. He is a minister. Right before the funeral service started, I asked him about her.

"Susan Pevensie," he said. "Lost her parents, two brothers and a sister in the train crash last month."

I didn't know what to say. "Poor girl," I finally said, quite obviously.

That night during dinner I was telling my mother about the funeral.

"Susan Pevensie," I said. "Lost her parents, two brothers and a sister in the train crash..." Suddenly I found that my eyes were filling up and I had to clear my throat. "Last month," I finished.

Like I said, I've been to _many _funerals.

About a month after the funeral, I was dropping by John's house to return a book I had borrowed. I found him pacing back and forth in front of the house with a covered basket and staring at the sky.

"Is anything the matter?" I asked.

John glanced at me then turned back to the sky. "Amen," he said before turning back to me. "Martha and I were supposed to visit Miss Susan Pevensie today," he explained. "But Martha has the flu." He paused, then, continued. "Naturally, I am going anyway. But many people would consider it inappropriate for me to visit a young woman without Martha accompanying me. I was just praying that nobody uses this as a chance to start spreading gossip."

"Wait a moment," I said. "You need a…witness? Let me come with you."

"You?" John looked dubious. "I'm not sure…"

"All I will do is be present and make everything respectable," I said, impatiently.

John agreed.

When we rang the doorbell, Susan answered right away. She looked tired but greeted us politely, looking at me as if she couldn't quite understand what I was doing there.

"This is my friend, Charles," John introduced me. "Martha really wished to come with me today but she is ill."

"I'm here to replace her," I said.

John hurriedly interjected, "Uh…Martha sent you some muffins."

Susan nodded. "Thank you," she said, softly. "Please sit down."

We sat down.

"How are you, Miss Susan?" John asked. "Martha and I have been praying for you."

Susan smiled a smile that reminded me of a painted doll. "You can tell Martha that I've stopped crying," she said. "And that I've started working in a jewelry shop again."

"That's good," John said, uncertainly.

"You can stop praying for me now if you like," Susan said.

"I don't think we will," John said, gently.

"You may if you like," Susan said, indifferently.

"Look here, Miss Susan," John said. "We will keep praying for you but we'd like to do more than that. If there is anything you need, any sort of help, you know you can call us."

Susan nodded. "Thank you," she said.

"And if they are both unavailable, you can call me," I said. "Really, if you need anything, help or advice or even someone _to talk to_, just look me up in the phone book under Charles Bennett."

John hurriedly said that we must be going.

He didn't say anything as we left the house but I could tell he was angry with me by the way he walked, with a sort of nervous rhythm.

"What have I done?" I asked.

John didn't answer.

"Come now!" I said. "I did the same thing you did. I told her she could always call me."

"I sincerely offered her my help as a spiritual leader. You sounded like you were trying to be charming."

"But I _was_ sincere, wasn't I?" I asked.

"Of course, you were," John said dryly.

He didn't understand. But I didn't care. Because a month later, she called me. It didn't matter that she had a practical reason for doing so. Her kitchen stove had a gas leak, she didn't have the phone number of the gas company and she didn't know what to do.

It was 10:00 PM when I came to her house. The kitchen smelled faintly of rotten eggs. I told her to go sit on the porch and I rang up the gas company. Then I joined her on the porch. Her face was turned away from me.

"They'll be here in a few minutes, Miss Susan," I said.

She took a shuddery breath and I realized that she was crying.

"Miss Susan," I said. "Miss Susan, don't cry." Then realizing that that probably didn't help at all, I asked, "Were you frightened? Were you about to go to sleep when you discovered it by accident?"

"No," she said. "I wasn't frightened when I discovered it. I'm frightened now!"

I tried to look for something brilliant to say. "Why?" I asked.

"Because I was happy when I discovered it. Happy and calm. I longed to just go to sleep and leave it the way it was."

My skin grew cold. I reached out to take her hand because I was suddenly afraid that she might disappear. Her hand was as cold as my own. She kept on speaking.

"But then I began to wonder whether the gas leak might hurt anybody next door and I began to wish I hadn't discovered it because then I wouldn't have to make the decision. Finally, I called you."

"Oh, Susan," I said. It suddenly seemed absurd to call her 'miss.' "Oh, Susan," I said again.

*****************************************************************************

It has been four months since then. We've become quite good friends.

Actually, I've fallen in love with her.

"When I was a child, I loved the ocean," she says. "We all did."

I know, by now, that she is speaking of her dead brothers and sister.

"We rarely went to the seaside though. Most of the time we stayed home, so we invented games. We used to pretend we were kings and queens," she says. "We even had a land of our own called Narnia. It had dwarfs and fauns and talking animals and magic." She laughs. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I thought of it. I must sound so silly."

"Of course, you don't," I say. "As a child it was important to you. Don't be ashamed of it."

She shakes her head. "It was never as important to me as it was to them. They were the ones who played and pretended for years. I always looked forward to growing-up and leaving it behind." She pauses. "So why am talking about it now?" She isn't really asking me for an answer, just wondering.

Dear Susan, I understand. Of course, I understand. You're talking about it because you have an overwhelming desire to talk about your loved ones and yet you won't talk about them because it hurts too much. So you talk about them indirectly by talking about the thing they cared about so much. If it heals you, then go ahead and talk about it.

"Tell me more," I say.

Susan tells me more about Narnia. But first, she asks if we can move further away from the ocean.


	2. Chapter 2

**This is from the POV of Susan's daughter. I considered doing a oneshot but decided to add a chapter instead.**

* * *

My name is Helen. I am four years old. How do you do?

Mummy says that's the right way to greet people. So why do they laugh when I say it? Like mummy's friends who visit sometimes. They laugh. Mummy doesn't. That's partly why I love her. I am staying at grandma's house because mummy is in the hospital having a baby and papa is shopping for things that the baby might brought me here last night. I was sleeping when papa started lifting my arms to put on my sweater. "Papa," I said, half-asleep. "I can get dressed by myself."

"I know," papa said. "But this time you have to get dressed extra quickly so I am dressing you."

Papa picked me up and carried me to our motorcar. He placed me in the backseat beside mummy. Mummy smiled at me. I think, I fell asleep on her shoulder. In five minutes, the car stopped, papa picked me up again and carried me to grandma's house.

"Papa," I said. "I can walk by myself."

Papa set me down and took my hand.

"Where are we going, papa?"

"You're going to stay at grandma's house because it's time for mummy to go to the hospital and have a baby."

The hospital. The words made my stomach hurt. People die in hospitals. I've heard that somewhere.

When grandma opened the door, papa gave me a quick kiss and hurried to the car. Grandma helped me take off my coat. "I've made you a nice comfortable bed on the couch," she said.

"Grandma?" I asked. "Do people die in hospitals?"

But I was asleep before I could hear the answer.

Now it is morning. The kitchen smells like muffins. I make my bed (well, at least, I try). Mummy says I must always make my bed. Then I walk to the kitchen, rubbing my eyes.

"Good morning!" grandma says cheerily.

"Grandma," I say. "Do people die in hospitals?"

"Oh…" grandma pauses. "Well…sometimes they do. But in one part of the hospital, people almost never die. Instead people are born. Your mummy went to the part of the hospital where people are born."

"Oh." I am relieved. I can always ask grandma anything.

We have a day of waiting and waiting and waiting. Grandma keeps on looking at the telephone and when it rings, she rushes over. "Yes? Yes? Hello?" she says.

It is a girl.

I have a baby sister! And I can_ play_ with her and_ teach_ her and …_feed_ her! I twirl around and around and around until I fall on grandma's couch.

"How is Susan doing?" grandma asks papa.

I look up and watch grandma's face.

She smiles. That is good.

*****************************************************************************

The next day, grandma and I are walking home where papa and mummy are waiting for us.

"Grandma, can we go a little faster?" I ask.

"Oh, darling, can we?"

Silly grandma! Asking my permission like I am the grown-up!

Grandma and I begin to run, holding hands. Grandma runs fast. Suddenly, I trip and I am flying through the air. Although I am hanging on grandma's arm, my toe hits the sidewalk. Ow!

Grandma stops and steadies me. "You all right, darling?"

My toe really hurts. I wish papa was here and I could ask him to carry me. I bite my lip. Big girls don't cry.

"Yes," I say. "But I don't want to run anymore."

We begin to walk. I am angry at the sidewalk. It spoiled my plans completely.

"I am _never_ going to run on this street again," I say. "It's a bad street."

"Oh, darling. You can't blame the street. It's just that little girls fall sometimes."

"I am not a little girl," I say. I am thinking that that even if little girls _do_ fall sometimes, I am going to make sure my little sister never falls.

When we enter the house, I let go of grandma's hand and walk upstairs. I would run but my toe still hurts.

"Mummy!" I stop. Mummy is in bed and there are pillows all around her, under her arm and behind her head. Why is she in bed? And where is my baby sister?

Mummy smiles at my confusion. "Come here, Helen," she says. "Come and take a look at little Susie."

And suddenly I realize that one of the pillows, lying next to her is well…not a pillow! It's a baby, wrapped tightly in white.

I climb into bed and look at Susie. She is beautiful.

"I have the prettiest little sister in the world!" I say.

Mummy reaches over and smoothes my hair. "You'll have to take care of her from now on and keep her safe."

"Like you took care of your little sister?" I say.

Mummy stares at me. Then suddenly, her lips are trembling and her eyes fill with tears.

"Mummy!" I shout. I am scared.

"It's all right, dear, it's all right," mummy says, but there are tears running down her face.

I made mummy cry. I didn't want to, I didn't mean to. "I'm sorry, mummy," I say. "I'm sorry."

Papa comes in from the kitchen and looks alarmed. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"I think I'm just tired. And over-emotional," mummy says. "It's all right."

But I know it's not all right. And I am never going to ask her about her sister again if it makes her so sad.

Papa looks like he doesn't really believe her but he doesn't ask any more questions. He sits on the bed and I climb into his lap. "How are you, Susie?" he asks.

I show him my toe. "I fell because I was running," I explain. "I am not going to run anymore."

Papa softly strokes my toe with his long fingers. "Oh, I hope you'll still run sometimes," he says."What kind of life is that where you're scared to run because you might fall?"

I shrug. It doesn't sound that bad to me. But that doesn't matter now. All that matters is that I'm with mummy and papa and with little Susie and that we are happy together.

"It's good to have all of my girls with me again," papa says, putting his arm around mummy. Mummy wipes away her tears and smiles at him.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm Susie.

I am eight and I am adorable.

You might think I am vain, saying a thing like that. But it made you laugh, didn't it? Didn't it? So isn't it all right to say things like that if it makes people laugh?

I was named after mum. Helen was named after our grandmother on mum's side or something like that. Mum picked her name. Papa picked mine. He named me after mum because he says he wants me to grow up to be just as beautiful and smart as she is. But I don't think I'm like mum at all. Helen is more like her. I'm more like…me.

Helen and I are brushing our hair before bed. Mum insists that we brush our hair before bed although I don't really understand why since it will just get tangled again during the night.

I whisper, "Helen?"

"Yes?"

"Shhh! Helen, look what I've got!"

I pull the black and white photograph from under my pillow.

Helen comes over to look and her eyes widen. "Susie! Where did you get that? That's mum's! It's supposed to be in her drawer!"

"I know," I say. "That's where I got it."

"You stole it?"

"I didn't steal it!" I say, outraged. "I borrowed it. I'll put it back."

"You took it without permission."

"I'm going to get permission from her tomorrow. Helen, who do you think these people are?"

Helen frowns. "I don't think, I _know_ who they are. That's mum, and that's her older brother, her younger brother and her younger sister, back when they were alive."

"Oh!" I study the photo. "What were their names?"

"Well, the older boy was named Peter. The sister was named Lucy and the younger boy was named Ed…something. Maybe Edward."

"Peter is handsome."

Helen smiles. "What would _you_ know about 'handsome'?" she asks. "You're eight years old."

"So?"

"Anyway, handsome isn't as important as kind."

"I know, I know!" I study the second brother. "The dark haired brother…he looks more like mum."

"Let me see," Helen is getting interested too. She looks at him. "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he just looks like her because they both look so serious."

I study the two girls in the photo, one with blond braids, one with dark. "Mum is prettier than Lucy," I say.

Helen gasps. "Susie, you mustn't say such things about dead people!"

"Why not?" I ask. "She _is _prettier. Although…Lucy looks more friendly. I wish she was my friend. How did she die?"

"I don't know exactly," Helen says. "There was some kind of accident, I think."

"I'm going to ask mum," I say.

"Don't you dare!" Helen hisses and I pull back, alarmed at the sudden seriousness in her expression. "If you really want to know, ask papa. The last time I asked mum about Lucy, she started crying. It hurts her to remember them. "

"But doesn't she remember them anyway? You can't forget a thing like that."

"Well, maybe it hurts to talk about it. I don't know," Helen says.

"But wouldn't it hurt more _not _to talk about it? If somebody I knew died and I couldn't talk about it …I'd burst! I'd pop like a balloon!"

"A balloon?" Helen asks.

We look at each other and suddenly we start giggling. I fall over on the bed, laughing. Helen tries to stop. She takes a deep breath and says, "We really shouldn't laugh about a thing like that. Besides mum might hear."

"So? We'll just tell her we're talking about balloons," I say, busting up again.

And the serious conversation is over. But the next day, I place the photo back while mum is in the kitchen. I don't want to make mum cry and although I am curious about her dead brothers and sister, I think I'll pick a different time to ask her.

* * *

It is raining outside and we are awfully bored.

We were going to go the zoo today but it started raining and then papa got a tremendous headache. He is leaning back in the old armchair, a wet cloth on his forehead and mum is fussing over him.

"You want a cup of tea?" she asks.

"No," papa says.

"How about some warm milk? Or maybe I should call a doctor?"

"Susan, it's just a headache. I'm not going to - " papa catches himself. "I'll be fine," he adds.

Helen and I are curled up in the other armchair, covered by Helen's large old blanket. I try extending my feet to see if they'll peek out of the blanket. They do and I pull them back under.

"Susie, please stop shoving," Helen complains.

"Why? Shoving is a great deal more fun than sitting here doing nothing," I say.

"Maybe shoving is more fun but _being_ shoved is certainly not," Helen says.

"Very true," papa puts in.

"Well then, try shoving me back," I say.

"Susie," mum says.

"Mum, I've got nothing to do," I complain.

"Would you like to play with your paper dolls?" mum suggests.

Helen groans. "Mum, no! The last time, we played with them, Susie ripped off the boy's arm and said that he was a war hero. She _ripped off_ his arm!"

"Susie!" mum says.

"I saw a story like that on TV at Eliza's house. A man went to war with an arm and came back without it. We should get a TV!"

'That is precisely why we should _not_ get a TV," mum mutters.

Papa gives me a sly look. "Susie, you're not saying you like watching TV better than playing with your mum's marvelous paper dolls?"

I tease back. "Of course not. But you told me yesterday that _you _wanted a TV. Perhaps mum should make _you_ some paper dolls."

"Ahem," papa says. He and mum look at each other and we all start laughing.

"Papa, I'm too old for paper dolls," Helen puts in. "So you can have mine!"

We laugh again but a peculiar look comes over mum's face. "Too old, hmmm?" she says. "Well, what _do_ you want to do then?" she asks us.

"Papa, can you tell us a story?" Helen asks.

It is a perfect idea because papa tells great stories. But papa groans and pulls the wet cloth over his eyelids. "If it wasn't for this blasted headache, I'd be able to think of something."

"Charles!" mum says, her look saying that he should not have used the word "blasted" in our presence.

"Girls, that was an example of how _not _to talk," papa says.

"Why don't you tell a story, mum?" I ask.

"Well, I don't know that many stories," mum says.

Suddenly papa lifts a finger. "What about...what about that game you used to play as a child?"

Mum freezes and her eyes tell papa not to go on.

But his eyes are closed, so he does go on. "Yes, the one where you became a queen and there was a magical lion, remember that?"

"A queen?" Helen asks. "Can you tell us about it?"

"I don't think...that was just..." mum stops and takes a deep breath. "How about I read out loud instead?"

Papa finally looks at her. "Well...all right," he says.

"But mum what game is _that_?" I ask. "You've never told us about that game."

"I think you would find it dull," mum says. "There aren't any missing arms or anything like that."

"Mum!" Helen and I both say and turn to look at her because mum _never_ talks like that.

Mum is already getting a book from the shelf. "Which one do you girls want? Mary Poppins?"

"I want to hear about the game," I say, folding my arms and sticking out my lower lip.

Mum gives papa a look. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you very much."

And she leaves the room. Helen and I both look at each other and then at papa.

Papa takes a deep breath. "Susie, 'no' means no."

Then, he gets up and follows mum into the kitchen. They begin to talk to each other in loud whispers. I take a few steps closer so I could hear better.

"Well, that wasn't very thoughtful. But I'm sure you're sorry now and I forgive you." Mum doesn't sound very forgiving.

"Do not speak to me like that, Susan, I am not a misbehaving child."

There is an angry silence.

Papa exhales. "I...shouldn't have mentioned it. It's your story to tell. But for that matter, why won't you tell the girls about it? You told me."

"Once. When I was grieving and I desperately needed to talk about all sorts of nonsense and to have somebody listen. I've regretted telling you since. I definitely regret it now."

"You don't have to tell them about the game, if you don't want to. But I think it would be good for you and for the girls if you shared _some _memories with them."

"I thought you were an organist, not a psychiatrist."

There is another angry silence.

Helen joins me in my place around the corner of the kitchen. Her eyes are wide.

Then I hear mum's voice. "I'm sorry." Her voice is shaking. "But you see I can't talk about them...my brothers and sister, without talking about the game. It's intertwined. And I can't talk about the game. So I don't talk about them." She begins to cry.

"Why?" I whisper to Helen. "Why can't she talk about the game?"

Helen shrugs and puts her finger to her lips. We lean over, so we could see as well as hear them. Papa has mum's hand in his and he is stroking it awkwardly. "But Susan, it must be so hard," he says.

"It's better than the alternative," mum says. "I believe." For a moment, she sounds a little uncertain. As if she doesn't really believe.

Well, that's it. All this sadness has gone on long enough. I've been crouching on the floor but now I get up and get ready to go in and make mum smile again. But Helen puts her hand on my shoulder. She is looking at mum and papa. And now mum is leaning on papa's shoulder and the tears are falling faster and faster down her cheeks. And I realize that this time I can't fix things by saying something funny.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is going to be alternating points of view quite rapidly. I've tried hard not to make it confusing.**

* * *

"We're going swimming! Swimming, swimming, swimming!" Susie sings as she skips through the house. She is wearing an orange swim tube over her green and blue dress and she looks uncommonly silly.

We're not actually going _swimming_. That's what we call it but I'm the only person in this family who can actually swim. Mum won't even go into the water, Susie can't swim yet and papa never learned how.

"Didn't you learn it at school?" I asked him once.

Papa grinned and looked a little embarrassed. "I went to an experimental school for young musicians," he said. "Swimming was optional."

"Swimming!" Susie finishes on a note so high that I wince and mum calls, "Susie, if you give yourself a sore throat, you won't get any ice-cream today."

"We're having ice-cream?" Susie looks delighted. She starts singing again, "Ice-cream, ice-cream, ice-cream!"

Going to the seaside makes Susie a little bit too excited.

When we get there, mama spreads the blanket on the sand and sits down primly in her white dress. She always wears white to the seaside. Papa, Susie and I undress and race towards the water. As usual, for a moment I wonder whether mum gets bored just watching us but then Susie splashes me and I forget about mum and splash her back.

******************************************************************

"Papa, I'm a little cold," Helen says. "I'm going to go join mum."

"But you've only been in the water for ten minutes!" I protest. Then I glance at Susan on the shore and think that it is good for the two of them to be together alone. Maybe they'll have a private woman-to-woman conversation or something.

"Papa, have you ever tried dancing ballet in the ocean?" Susie asks me.

_Ballet?_ Oh, why didn't I bring a beach ball?

I shake my head. "I guess not. Will you teach me?"

Susie nods. "Only it's too shallow here. I've got to stand on my tiptoes if I'm going to dance ballet."

"Susie, be careful."

"I am wearing my magical tutu." Susie points to the orange swim tube that fits snugly around her waist. "It won't let me drown."

If ten years ago somebody had told me that I would be dancing ballet in the ocean, I would have wondered what they had been drinking. Yet here I am pointing my toes and raising my arms and praying that nobody sees me.

A wave is coming.

Susie raises her arms. "The waves can help you make huge leaps," she says. "Really huge."

"Susie, wait!"

She leaps forward. I try to grab the orange swim tube as it flies past me.

"Susie, stay where you are." I begin to walk toward her.

"Papa, I can't touch the bottom!" She doesn't sound scared. She sounds excited, as if she's in some kind of adventure story. Still, her hands grip the swim tube that helps her float.

A large wave is coming closer and I am hoping that it will be just large enough to push her closer to me. It is large enough and larger. I suck in my breath right before it covers me completely. Through the water, I can hear Susie's distant shout. Then the wave recedes and I can breathe again. The water is up to my chest now. Where is Susie?

I see her. There she is, bopping on the water, her dark hair wet and covering one side of her face. She is making strokes with her hands, trying to swim in my direction. But she still drifts further out. I can't reach her. Not unless I go underwater completely.

A coldness begins to spread through me. Dear God, what do I do? Can I slip underwater, walk the ocean floor to where she is and pull her back in? What if I run out of air? We'll both be lost.

*******************************************************************

"Warm now?"

"Mum, you've covered me with three towels and two hats. I'm not_ that_ cold. And I look ridiculous."

Mum smiles. "Who are you trying to impress?"

I look around. I think I can see an elderly couple somewhere in the distance. It's true that the beach is mostly empty but still...

"Well, Susie is going to tease me…" I glance towards the water where papa and Susie are and the words get stuck in my throat. They are far. Much too far. I can only see the back of papa's head but I can see Susie's expression. She looks frightened. She drifts further to the left and my view of her is blocked by a large rock.

"No," mum whispers beside me.

"I'll swim after her," I say. My voice is shaking. The truth is I'm not that good a swimmer. Can I swim that far _and_ swim back, pulling her along? I'll have to try.

"No, I will."

"_You're _going into the ocean?"

Mum kicks off her shoes. "I should have gone in a long time ago."

I look in the direction of the rock. And suddenly, Susie drifts back into view. She is facing away from the shore, which seems odd. What could she possibly be looking at? And slowly, Susie floats in our direction. But how could that be? That's impossible.

I glance at mum and she looks as bewildered as I feel. She takes my hand and together we walk toward the shore. We watch as Susie floats right into papa's arms.

"What happened?" mum sobs as soon as papa has reached the shore, carrying Susie in his arms.

Papa says nothing, only keeps holding Susie, doesn't want to let go of her.

"There was a lion," Susie says.

"What?" I ask.

"A lion. He saved me."

"You mean like a sea lion?"

Impatience brings a little color back into Susie's cheeks. "No! A real lion standing on the water."

I wonder whether she has swallowed too much seawater or gone mad from fright. But then papa looks up and says, "There_ was_ a lion. I saw him too."

"But…" I want to say that that is impossible but the expression on mum's face stops me. She looks like she has just woken up from a long sleep, or perhaps like she has just learned news that are at once wonderful and terrible. She stands. She takes a step towards the water. And she runs into the foaming, churning ocean.

There is something about the look on her face that…makes me want to come with her. Only I don't.

***********************************************************************

She is swimming. Her shoulders ache from the strain, she hasn't gone swimming for a long time. She keeps going. She must reach Him before he disappears, must speak to Him, must cling to Him because…because she _must_. Her eyes search the horizon. She sees nothing.

"Oh, Aslan, where are you?"

She begins to struggle to stay afloat. But she has been struggling for fourteen years. She can struggle for a little longer.

Aslan, why can't I reach you?"

She cannot swim any longer. She is going to drown here, she, the best swimmer of them all. "Aslan, help me."

As she loses consciousness, her hand comes to rest on wet and matted fur.

*******************************************************************

"It was the magical lion that mum didn't want to tell us about!" Susie says. "I know it was." She sighs. "He was beautiful. He blew and blew and blew me straight into papa's arms."

Papa is watching the water. We can't see mum, she has disappeared behind the large rock, but he is watching anyway. He looks anxious.

"Papa, can you let go of my hand now?" Susie asks.

Papa glances down as if he has just realized that he is still holding her hand. He lets go.

"Papa…do you think we should find someone to rescue mum…just in case?" I ask.

Papa shakes his head. "If she wants to come back…she will."

Susie and I stare at him and then at each other. "What?" Susie asks.

"She will," papa repeats and then turns back to the ocean.

And she does. Papa sees her coming out of the water first and then Susie and I do too. Water streams down her dress and hair. Her eyes shine, her smile shine, her _everything_ shines.

Papa hands her a towel. "You don't have to tell us what you were doing," he says. "But we'd love to know."

"All this time I thought they were dead," she says. "All this time…they were more alive than I was."

And then she tells us all about Aslan and Narnia and her brothers and sister and parents and all the things she saw and heard. And as she speaks I am aware of a bitter feeling that's growing inside of me and I try to ignore it because it just doesn't make any sense. I should be happy for her. Susie and papa are. But the bitter feeling just doesn't go away. And when mum and I are seated on a bench in the park and papa and Susie go off to buy ice-cream for the four of us, I don't look at her.

"Helen, what is it?" She has noticed.

"Why didn't…why didn't I see Him?" I whisper and suddenly there are tears in my voice that seem to have come out of nowhere.

Mum hesitates. "You didn't come with me."

"I wanted to."

"Why didn't you?"

There is a choking feeling in my throat so I just shrug. What's the point of wondering why? It's too late to do anything about it now. Aslan_ himself _has visited us and I didn't want to go see him.

"You _will _see Him someday."

"I don't think so." I make an effort to smile. If I burst into tears, I will spoil the afternoon for everybody.

"He told me that you would see him someday, Helen. That's what He said."

_That's what he said..._

Could this be true? Is Aslan really like that? I suddenly picture Him and mum walking and talking calmly, upon the waves. He _said_ I would see him. If He said so…then I can believe it and I can wait.

And from now on, I mustn't be afraid of going into the ocean.


End file.
